


Moribund

by Chiroptach



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Major Character Injury, Near Death Experiences, Near Drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiroptach/pseuds/Chiroptach
Summary: Barely alive and fortunate to be conscious enough not to drown, Roman has to find a way to survive long enough for help to arrive. If it's even coming.Basically my attempt at a semi-realistic way for Roman and Victor to have survived the end of Birds of Prey.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 9
Kudos: 111





	Moribund

The first thing Roman was consciously aware of was a list of types of sharks that lived near Gotham going through his head, over and over again. Then as adrenaline wore off- agonizing pain, mostly in his torso. He started struggling, trying his best to swim up. His legs weren’t working, or at least he couldn’t feel them. There was another rush of pain as he became aware of the cold and the salt water flooding his open torso. He could see part of the pier and swam towards it with every bit of strength he had. It wasn’t much, and didn’t seem like it would be enough. His lungs were burning, and his arms were out of strength as he started to sink back in to the water. He was drowning. _This is fucking ridiculous- Why can’t I just already be dead? Why drowning or sharks or-_ A wave took him, dragging him towards the open ocean, but also towards one of the beams holding up the pier. He grabbed it, still so far under water. He started to pull himself up, feeling the burning in his lungs grow stronger, tears welling in his eyes. He grabbed the pole, his gloved hands outside of the water and tried to pull himself up, but he gasped for breath too early and he felt water rushing in to his lungs- horror jolting through his body mixing with a jolt of pain as one of his legs decided to kick, to struggle for life for another moment. He pulled his head out of the water and gagged, coughing as much water as he could up before another wave pulled him down. He clung with all his hand strength, then wrapping his arms around the pole, feeling splinters burrow in to his arms as he clung tightly. He started coughing more and more water up. 

He had read once,while looking in to various tortures, that salt water drowning is worse than fresh water- or took more time or something. Salt had to get through the lungs or some shit- he couldn’t remember the important bits, just that he was royally _fucked._ He felt that leg twitch again. He struggled to move his legs, to wrap himself entirely around the pole and just cling and wait for Zsasz- his thoughts were interrupted by more gagging and coughing as water came back out of his mouth. Zsasz wasn’t coming. He didn’t know where Roman was. He didn’t know what was happening- Harley and her stupid fucking friends probably killed him to- Roman was going to die- drowning on the edge of Founder’s Pier- his leg moved. He moved it that time too, but it was near impossible to get it to wrap around the pole, he couldn’t move the muscle over his stomach, it was probably gone, his intestines were probably out, he was probably attracting sharks with his struggling.

“ _Fuck!”_ he yelled. Then he realized yelling was probably a horrible idea, he would probably attract Harley back to finish him off or drag him up and throw him further from the dock towards the sharks, or- He had to think.He had to figure out a way to get help, quietly enough that he wouldn’t attract anything back. He felt the lump of his phone- next to his chest, close to his armpit. Victor always thought that was silly, that pocket or that Roman put it there to prevent pick-pocketing but Victor was the one who got pick-pocketed by a fucking child. He went for it and was taken by another wave- pulled further along the pier- towards the edge, towards the open fucking ocean- but there was another beam. He clung to it as hard as he possibly could, wrapping his arms around it tightly as his one moving leg caught on it. The wave tried to take him further, but he was hooked around the beam tight enough to stay. Each movement of water, each bit of extra pressure on his already torn and mangled leg was agony. Roman had never been in so much pain in his life- but it seemed to be getting better. He guessed his brain was trying to keep him from giving in and dying. Or shock or panic or something- who cared. He had to call Victor. He didn’t know what else to do, who else to call. He clung to the pole, waiting to make a move for the phone. He would wait till the next big wave came, then try. In the meantime he had to be as ready as he could be. He struggled with numb fingers to pull off his gloves so he could dial on the phone. Hopefully anyways. The wave he was waiting for hit and he clung to the pole with all his strength. Then as soon as he thought it subsided he grabbed for his phone, managing just barely to wriggle it free from his pocket and in to his cold hand as the next wave hit. He clenched the phone like his life depended on it. It probably did. Then he moved around the beam, trying to position himself so the waves would just pin him to it. He should have done that earlier- it didn’t _matter._ He did it then, that was all that mattered. He looked at the phone, the light almost blinding. Emergency contacts. Victor was the only one. Ring… Ring… 

“Victor?” he demanded, at the third ring. Zsasz’ phone rang eight times before it went to voicemail, and he always answered Roman at the third- or if he was running slow, the fourth. Ring… Maybe the fifth- he was busy- Ring… Ring.. Ring… “Victor, _please-”_ Ring… Voicemail. “Victor answer your goddamn phone!” he yelled. He hung up and tried it again. Ring… Ring… The waves pinned him against the pole, tearing at the already likely horrific wounds in his torso and legs. Ring.. Ring.. Ring… Ring… Ring… Ring… Voicemail. “Victor you had better be fucking dead!” He snarled, barely even hearing himself over the seemingly deafening sounds of the waves. He called again, hope going fast. Ring… Ring… Ring… Ring… Ring… Ring… Ring… Ring… Voicemail. He didn’t customize his voicemail, and Roman hadn’t noticed that before. “Victor I swear to God I’ll kill you myself if you don’t fucking answer me!” Victor was probably dead. They killed him. They had to have- he wouldn’t just not answer- or he was injured, dying somewhere else just like Roman- maybe he’d hear the voicemails, Zsasz could survive most anything. Roman was getting tired and his movements were getting slower. He didn’t know what it was like to die, but he figured this was it. He immediately started to cry, then realized suddenly that if this was it the last thing he ever would have said would be threatening Victor- the literal _only_ person who had stayed with him and stayed loyal to him and loved him. He called back. With each of the eight rings a little of his strength faded and he started to cry a little more. He was dying a pitiful death, but no one was there to see it. What the hell did it matter? There was no need for masks at this point. Voicemail. “Victor, I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean that, please if you’re out there-” A wave almost pulled him away from the pole, and he clenched his phone, the end really setting in. Victor couldn’t come get him. Victor was dead too, or he would be too late. This was _it._ “Victor I love you, so much-” He said before he was finally drug off his pole. This time he struggled, this time he swam with everything he had, closing his eyes tight, trying to get back to the pier. He didn’t even realize he was close to the poles till he slammed his hand against one in another desperate stroke. He slapped his hands around the pole until he managed to grasp it, and hold tight. He had to keep trying. He called again, not sure of what else to do. Ring…. Ring… Ring… Ring… Ring.. Ring… Ring… No voicemail. Seven? Someone at least had Victor’s phone, that was bizarre- something was off. His first thought was that Victor had betrayed him too, left him to die there purposefully, that Victor would listen to his desperate voicemails and just _laugh_ \- but that wasn’t like Victor. He had to believe it- grabbed on to the thought that Victor wouldn’t do that, because the alternative was death. He called again, one last time. 

“Boss?” Victor answered, coughing. Something was wrong with Victor- he was incapacitated- those fucking bitches- another wave set his thoughts back on task. 

“Zsasz!? Victor- get here! Get here _now!”_ Roman yelled, desperation filling his voice. He had strength he hadn’t had before and held tighter, forcing both his legs to move slightly. He coughed and hacked a little more salt water out of his mouth and lungs. 

“Roman? Where are you? What’s-” he coughed.

“Founder’s Pier! Get-” Roman was cut off as he was drug under the water regardless, more of it going into his mouth, trying to push past into his lungs- drown him.He forced himself back up. “Fast! Victor, _fast!”_ Roman yelled, gagging and clenching his phone again, accidentally hanging up. It would be alright. Victor was coming. He just had to hang on. 

The first thing Victor was consciously aware of was the ringing of his phone. His phone’s volume was always as high as it could be. If it wasn’t he could miss a call from Roman. Victor had never seen a tantrum like the one Roman threw the last time he missed a call- how _dare_ he be busy with the job Roman sent him on- Roman needed him _now._ Roman needed him more than he realized. Victor could be there though, always. His phone’s ringing was getting louder. That didn’t make much sense. 

He sat up, coughed, and felt the slick coppery taste of blood going down his throat. He moved cautiously, touching the aching protrusion in his throat. An arrow. The crossbow-bitch. He remembered her MO. Arrow to the neck, making her targets drown in their own blood. Problem with that was that an inch off target, or an inch of scar tissue too thick could prevent death. He laughed a little. He was pretty sure that particular scar had come from the whole Bertellini thing. That would piss her off. 

His phone was still ringing. He sat up- no, he didn’t. He _couldn’t._ Everything was sluggish, tired. He kept struggling, unable to sit, barely able to lift his head. Slow was the key. He used his hand instead. He took his phone from his pocket, fingers moving numbly and mashing the screen uselessly. _Roman._ He tried to answer, but he didn’t have enough time. He had six missed calls from Roman. Looked like he wouldn’t be surviving this after all. Victor focused, moving his joints rhythmically until feeling started to return. His shoulder hurt. Little stab wounds- the tranquilizer probably. Fantastic. His throat hurt too. He picked up the phone, still somewhat numb, and before he could call Roman back he got another call. He answered it. 

“Boss?” he coughed, finding it harder to speak than expected. 

“Zsasz!? Victor- get here! Get here _now!”_ Roman yelled, not in fury like Victor expected. He was panicking, struggling for breath- Victor could hear the ocean. It jolted him up suddenly.

“Roman? Where are you? What’s-” he coughed.

“Founder’s Pier! Get-” Roman was cut off- something was wrong, horribly wrong-Victor could hear water on the other end. Too close to the phone. “Fast! Victor, _fast!”_ Roman yelled, coughing- choking. _Drowning._ Victor tried to dart up, but his legs collapsed under his weight. He couldn’t stop moving- he had to go. He crawled across the floor, grabbing at his phone, but ultimately abandoning it. He crawled towards a large carnival slide and threw himself down it. He landed on a man at the bottom- one of their guys. Dead. His thoughts regrouped. They lost. They lost and those bitches had done something- done something to _Roman._ Victor forced himself up to his numb feet, and started to run as best he could. He had to- Roman _needed him._

It felt to Roman like hours, like he had been clinging to the damn pole for days. That was when he recalled the fog, the thickness of it, the fact that Victor probably wouldn’t even be able to find him. He decided he had to trust Victor. He didn’t have other choices. He was losing feeling in his legs, beyond pain. They were unresponsive, but they still hurt so he assumed they were still usable. He waited. 

Then he heard footsteps on the pier. His first instinct was to scream his head off, yell as loud and as much as he could to let Victor know he was alive and where to come get him. But then a thought crossed his mind. What if it wasn’t Victor? He called Victor again and waited to hear his phone ring. Nothing. They’d done it- they’d killed Victor and they had come back to make damn sure Roman died too- 

“Boss?!” Victor yelled. “Roman!?”

“Victor! Victor here!” he yelled, as loud as he could. His throat hurt and he couldn’t yell much more. Victor sounded hoarse too. Then Roman got it in his head that he would get up there, get closer. Victor kept yelling, calling for him. He had to be visible. He decided he would force himself to be. He let go of the phone, prepared himself as best he could and started trying to crawl up the post. He didn’t get far, but far enough to reach one of the passive metal pins holding it together, where he pulled himself up. Not far, but just far enough. He almost cried when Victor looked over the edge down at him. “Victor! Victor, please!” Victor dropped a lifesaver down to him.

“Grab onto it I can pull you up,” he promised. Roman paused, his arms burning, and then lunged for it, barely managing to grab it. Victor yanked him up as quickly as he could, Roman starting to slip.

“Victor!” he cried.

“I’ve got you,” Victor said, lunging down and catching his arms, pulling him up roughly. Victor reached down and tugged his legs up along with him, on to the dock. Roman couldn’t stand, so he just laid in Victor’s arms. He panted, coughed up more water, and clung to Victor as Victor tried to examine his wounds. He just wanted to curl up in Victor’s warm arms and sleep for a year. Maybe more. “I’ve got you, Roman, I’ve got you,” Victor said. He held Roman’s hand and moved them up slightly, trying to get a look at his torso. “Oh _God._ ” 

“Is it bad?” Roman asked.

“What did they do to you?” Victor asked, softly. His voice rarely ever wavered, Hell, he rarely emoted much in any way. Victor sounded like he was on the edge of tears.He gradually stood up, trying to be careful with the way he held Roman. 

“Grenade in my pocket,” Roman said. He could tell Victor was carrying him, but now that it wasn’t so life and death, now that he was safe, he was more tired than he could remember being in his whole life. He closed his eyes and was unconscious in an instant. 

Victor had stolen a car to get there, so he figured Roman wouldn’t mind getting blood and water all over the back seat. Besides, he was sleeping. Getting him to sleep was the only way to keep him from complaining, it seemed. Victor smiled a little. He put Roman in the back of the car, taking off his shirt and balling it up to put it under Roman’s head. He caressed his hair, and kissed his forehead. Roman didn’t always like those little affectionate things. Especially not in public. Sometimes Victor really did prefer him asleep. He got in the front of the car and drove them to the club. He wished he had brought his phone, he could call the emergency doctor Roman had on staff while he drove. Instead he got back, took Roman out of the car and carried him in to the club, laying him in one of the booths. Fortunately it was closed. Probably the only fortunate thing that had happened to them for a while. He went to the landline and called the doctor. He had the number written down, which Roman thought was silly, but it was worth it now. He talked through everything he should do before the doctor arrived on the phone and explained the situation. 

Zsasz had once enjoyed a television show about an emergency room and its staff. It was a bad motorcycle crash that reminded him most of what he had to do for Roman. He had been told to gently remove Roman’s clothes so the doctor could inspect the wound, and to keep him warm, so he didn’t get hypothermia. The doctor was kinda pissed that Roman wouldn’t go to an emergency room and kept saying they should. Victor told him that he was paid to go wherever Roman said for him to. Roman would like that. Zsasz went to his side and started trying to pull his drenched, freezing suit jacket off of him. Roman was still firmly unconscious, but it was hard to get it off of him. He tossed the suit jacket aside. It was hard to tell where precisely the remains of his undershirt ended and his mangled skin began. There was less blood than Victor thought there would be. He supposed the cold had stopped the blood flow. He found the edge of the shirt and pulled it off. Roman had some goose bumps. He then took off Roman’s shoes, and placed them aside. Then socks, and then pants. Pants were difficult. Victor was pretty sure it was his left pant pocket which the grenade was in. His hip was firmly destroyed on that side, pushing the other side of his hip out, and against his pants. Victor was worried about tugging the tatters of pants on his left into the open wound, but had to in order to get them over his hip. He got the pants off him, though. He left Roman’s underwear, figuring he could warm him up with them in place, and not wanting to embarrass Roman. That would be a death sentence.

Victor ran upstairs, deciding to accept inevitable punishment for ruining the sheets, and grabbed a sheet and got a pillow. Roman would be pissed that it was damp and bloody and such, but it was what Roman needed then. He would do what Roman needed him to, even if Roman didn’t like it. He put the pillow under his head, and ran his hand through Roman’s hair. He wrapped the sheet over him, and gently ran his hands up and down Roman’s shoulders, trying to warm him a little. Roman’s eyes started to open.

“Victor?”

“I’m here,” he said softly. “I’m here.” 

“Everything fucking hurts so bad-”

“I know,” said Victor. “The doctor is coming, I called.” 

“Send somebody to check on- fuck- check on the stupid carnival place- I can’t remember- _damnit-_ ” he started to wake fully. 

“I will, I will,” said Victor, putting a hand to Roman’s chest with a gentleness no one else would know of him. He pushed Roman back against the pillow. 

“What the fuck is this shit?” he asked about the sheet.

“I had to keep you from getting too cold, get that wet shit off of you,” Victor said. He pulled a chair up next to Roman, keeping him laying down. He reached to pet his hair, but paused. 

“Victor- _fucking fuck!_ It _hurts!”_ Victor offered his hand for Roman. Roman took it and squeezed it. “We’re gonna kill that Harley bitch.”

“Of course we are.”

“And that fuckin’ kid!”

“I’ll peel the skin off of her grabby little hands and make her eat it,” promised Victor. 

“Fuck!” 

“I know,” he said. “I know it hurts, it’ll be alright. We’ll get all her stupid fucking friends too. The cop and the crossbow killer and little bird.”

“I can’t fucking believe Dinah did that, I can’t fucking believe this shit wouldn’t have happened if I just trusted _you_.”

“You trusted me-”

“I should have _just_ fucking trusted you but I trusted that fucking-” Roman was getting too upset. 

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” he said. “Lay down. You gotta get better so we can do all this.” 

“Victor I told you to send people-”

“I know, but I’m gonna wait till after you’re stable. You’re too important to leave here and I lost my phone.” Victor heard knocking. “I’m gonna go let the doctor in real quick, I will be right back.” Roman almost didn’t let go of his hand. Victor walked to the door and let the doctor in. By the time they got back Roman was partially asleep. He had a right to be exhausted. 

The doctor forced Victor to let him remove the arrow from his neck and check the needle-stab wounds in his back. Victor forced the doctor to help him get Roman in to an actual bed. Victor made sure the blankets were over him and a pillow was under his head. He had to keep him comfortable. 

“Alright, first the bad news,” the doctor said. “First, I believe his lungs are going to be irreparably damaged.” 

“Why?” demanded Victor. 

“The grenade and the salt water- A grenade sends out shock waves which are detrimental to the alveolar. Salt water drowning can do much the same, and I would guess it has.” There was a pause. “Then uh… There was massive damage in his hip and ribs on his left, especially in the bone. While I believe recovery is possible, it will be a long time before he’s able to properly walk again. Also the muscle around his torso has been greatly damaged, and uh… Well torn to the point… Well there were quite a few holes in his abdominal cavity.”

“What’s the good news?” 

“He’s suffered no brain damage, he can recover for the most part, and he will survive,” the doctor said. Victor paused. 

“That’s good enough. Get out, unless you need to fix him up more.”  
“Of course,” the doctor said, leaving. Victor watched him go, looking out the window. He called up a few of their guys and had the docks check and his phone retrieved. Roman had at some point called him after he promised he was coming. He wished he had his phone with him then so that he could have comforted Roman. 

“How is the boss?” asked one of the men.

“He’ll live just fine.”

“Yeah but is he like… permanently fucked up?” asked the same man. 

“Permanently fucked up?”

“Like I don’t wanna work for the mobster who can’t even walk, you get what I’m saying?”

“You should be fucking _grateful_ that Roman ever gave you a fucking job you piece of shit!” Victor snapped. His rage dropped. “If you wanna die then you can feel free to betray him, but if you wanna keep your face attached to your head then don’t even dream of it. I don’t care if he drinks through a straw for the rest of his life, he’s still smarter than every other boss in this town put together.” 

“Yeah, of course,” the man changed his mind quickly. Then they left. Victor was surprised his phone had survived all that. He had voicemails. From Roman. The first was the ever romantic : “Victor answer your goddamn phone!”. He decided to listen to the next.”Victor you had better be fucking dead!” Victor paused, and rubbed his newly bandaged neck. He almost had been. The next was : “Victor I swear to God I’ll kill you myself if you don’t fucking answer me!” Roman didn’t even seem to realize how much Victor helped him and protected him sometimes. There was only one more voicemail. He sighed. It was probably another voicemail demanding his rescue and telling Victor he was stupid for getting injured. “Victor, I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean that, please if you’re out there-” Then Roman was tugged under the water.“Victor I love you, so much-” Victor deleted the rest of the voicemails but kept that one. The sound of Roman _apologizing,_ and begging and nearly dying was damn near intoxicating.It would have been disturbing in the moment, but Roman was fine now. It twisted his stomach, and made his heart flutter. It was strange how much he liked it when Roman was still breathing. Victor didn’t like most people when they were alive, and he did enjoy the way Roman looked sleeping or unconscious. He hadn’t heard Roman begging for his life much before, but he enjoyed that too. There was still something better about a living Roman. He supposed it was that he couldn’t enjoy a dead Roman for long, but had been enjoying a living Roman for years. He looked to his sleeping, temperamental lover. 

He walked over and sat down on the bed next to Roman. Roman wiggled for a moment, then looked up at him. He needed to get that doctor back, or some doctor that would give him enough medication to keep him sleeping- it couldn’t be good that he kept waking up. 

“Victor, what happened to your neck?” he asked.

“Crossbow killer tried to end me,” Victor said. Roman’s went from neutrality, or perhaps contentment, to a much more familiar expression. 

“Piece of shit Crossbow killer! That fucker has the guts to kill guys I own and then tries to kill _you!”_ he snapped. “That fucking-”

“It’s alright, boss, she didn’t do it,” Victor said. “Roman, you need to relax for now. We’re gonna get all those bitches, and everybody who left while you’re healing-”

“People _left?_ ” asked Roman. “People left _me?_ ” There was just the right amount of hurt and uncertainty in his face, mixed with the blind rage. Victor didn’t feel much himself, but he had gotten fairly good at discerning which combinations of Roman’s often very obvious emotions got him what he wanted. That bit of hurt, especially since he couldn’t even walk at that point, would fester, and grow into a sadistic revenge fantasy. Roman had the best sadistic revenge fantasies. 

“Yeah. They think you won’t ever heal up.” Roman paused, not instantly raving and ranting about his revenge fantasy, and Victor realized he had fucked up. 

“Will I?” Roman asked. That was always the risk with using his fear of abandonment. Victor wished he could just cut those insecurities right out of him. 

“Of course you will,” Victor said. “The doctor said you would, just that it’ll take time. They’re just a bunch of impatient, stupid fuckin’ rats.” He paused, hoping that would be enough. “How do you want me to kill them?” 

“I want you to abduct all of them and tie them to chairs, and put those chairs in a line. Then you’re gonna peel the face off the first person in the line and I’m gonna use my _fucking staple gun_ to staple that fucker’s face to the next one, and then you peel off both the faces and we just go down the line till nothing’s left but one thick, bloody, staple filled mess!” Roman snapped. There it was, that beautiful rage. “Then we’re gonna get those bitches.”

“We’re gonna hurt them so much worse,” Victor said, grinning. 

“So _so_ much worse.” Victor grinned, making a mental note to check the staple gun’s ability to pierce several layers of skin, and if it didn’t work suggest the nail gun before they began. Victor was far from an impatient man, but for this he simply couldn’t wait.


End file.
